A wisecracking narrator began to tell the story of his life, but from that point forward, Emilia gave the movie almost no attention. She tossed her head back, watching Jaxton try so hard to ignore her as she jerked his base with both hands.
“I love how fat your dick is,” she breathed in his ear.
“You’re not sucking,” he murmured back.
“Tell me you don’t love it.”
He grinned — slightly, but it was there. Then she bent over and devoured him again. His hand roamed from her head down her spine, and she shivered under his touch. Emilia wanted him right then and there, and if he’d asked for it, she would have swung her leg over Jaxton and fucked her athletic young man until he came in her tight, so-very-wet pussy. But he didn’t. He squeezed her ass, stroked her back, plunged her head down on his cock from time to time, and just kept watching the movie.
It infuriated Emilia. It spurred her on. And in the dark theater, she let go of his cock and slammed her mouth down to his base, taking every meaty inch of him in her mouth and the back of her throat. She held the position until her eyes watered, and came back up, taking small gasps of air as silently as she could. Then she drove back down, fucking his cock with her mouth, her throat. He shifted, and thrust up, and gripped the other arm of the chair.
As wild as she was making him, though, Jaxton just wouldn’t come. Her jaw ached, and the position was terrible. She pushed herself up further, sitting on her chair on both knees, sucking him down. Better, but not by much. The metal around the rim of the chair was going to cut off the circulation if he didn’t come soon. She moaned more out of desperation than need, but Jaxton shuddered at the sound. Inspired, she waited for some loud sound on the screen — wailing sirens — and did it again, louder. He grabbed her ass again, thrusting up at her mouth. Twenty minutes into the movie, and Emilia finally had his number.
Her fists made squick squick squick sounds every time she jacked him and her slobbering on his cock had to be audible to anyone within a few rows. Thankfully, there were none. No one yet had to move or go to the bathroom, but if they did, she wouldn’t have cared. Emilia wanted that come. Wanted it now.
She dropped her mouth down hard on him again, sucking him, holding him deep. She cupped his balls, stroked them idly, and he grabbed the back of her head. Another double tap, but she was already gagging on him. She pushed up hard enough that he popped free of her mouth, spraying down her face, her neck, her tits through the dress.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. Everyone would see that when they left. There was no getting to a bathroom without having to pass by at least one or two ushers. Jesus. And if anybody recognized her…
Emilia swallowed what little hit her tongue, and sat back, biting her lip, trying not to cry. This was insane. She was going to get caught, sooner or later. And when she did, Jim would break. He still loved her, and despite their problems, she loved him. But did she love him enough to stop this? To end it?